(After another week or two there are some
other little matters registered.)

The Starost, after having passed a week
with us, is gone again; when he returns next
it will be to carry Barbara away. I cannot
imagine her going away with a man who is
almost a stranger to her, and yet I believe she
grows to like him better every day, though it
is true that he never talks with her. His
attentions are confined entirely to our parents.
That, they say, is the way for a well-bred
man always to pay his addresses, because it
is by pleasing the family of his expected
wife that he should endeavour to win her
affections.

The wedding will be in three weeks.
Barbara has presented a handsome new dress to
each sister, and one also to every young lady
in the castle. Nearly all the persons who
were invited to the wedding are to come, but
the king and the princes, as I expected, will
come only by their representatives.

Time runs on, and the chronicler dilates on
the arrival of the guests, the filling of the
castle and all the buildings round about with
company, the dispatch of the bride's chattels
to Sulgostow, including two great cases filled
with mattresses, beds, pillows, and carpets,
the coffer of plate, and hundreds of things
besides; the curtains of blue damask,
ornamented with bunches of blue and white
ostrich feathers. Borch, the king's
representative, arrives; so does the Duke of
Courland's.

Their entry was magnificent. Several cannon
were fired, there was a constant discharge
of musketry, and our dragoons presented
arms. The band also played at intervals. I
never in my life saw anything so imposing and
so beautiful. To-day the marriage deed was
drawn up in the presence of all the assembled
quests. I understood nothing of the
formalities; but the presents for the bride
were most superb. The Starost gave her
three rows of Oriental pearls, and a pair of
diamond ear-rings; the Palatine, a large
diamond cross, an aigrette, and a diadem of
the same; the colonel, who is ever amiable
and gallant, presented her with a delicious
watch and chain from Paris, and the Abbé
Vincent gave her some old teeth and other
relics. Till now, Barbara has never worn any
ornaments; the only thing of the kind she
has possessed, is a little ring, adorned with the
image of the Virgin. This, I know, she will
not part with, although she has now so many
costly things. I must leave off writing,
because they have just brought me my
embroidered dress, beautifully got up; the
work has a very good effect. I must put
just a few more stitches to it, and then I
will carry it to Mademoiselle Lavistowska,
that she may present it to my sister on her
waking. How pretty she will look in it!

(The wedding at last takes place on the
twenty-fifth of February, and on the day
following the diarist is busy.)

Macienko says, "If a thousand horses were
sent after Barbara Krasinska now, they could
not reach her—she has become Madame the
Starostine!" How can I ever write all that
took place yesterday? Early in the morning
we all went to Lissow, where the bride and
bridegroom confessed and received the sacrament.
They knelt before the great altar, and
after mass the priest gave them the benediction.
Barbara—I was enchanted with her for
it—had put on my pretty morning dress; but
the weather being very cold, she was obliged to
wear over it, a white satin pelisse, lined with
fur, which rather tumbled it. From her head,
a white blonde veil fell to her feet.

On returning to the castle, a great breakfast
was served; after which Barbara retired
to her room, my mother and twelve married
ladies accompanying her, to preside over her
toilet. She was then attired in a rich white
moiré dress, trimmed with Brabant lace,
worked with silver. She wore a long train.
At her waist she had a bouquet of rosemary,
and in her hair a branch of the same, fastened
by a golden clasp, on which was engraven the
date of her marriage, and a complimentary
verse suitable to the occasion. Barbara
looked very beautiful in this dress. My
mother would not allow her to put on any
of the jewels, for she said, "A bedizened
bride becomes a weeping wife." I am sure
Barbara need not become that, for she has
cried out, in the last few days, a whole life's
tears.

In the bouquet that was worn by my sister
at her waist, there had been put a golden coin,
struck on the day of her birth, a piece of
bread, and a little salt; for we believe that
when this custom is observed the married
pair will never be in want of funds or food.
We add also a morsel of sugar, to make
marriage palateable to the last.

I and eleven other young ladies, none older
than eighteen, preceded Barbara to the
drawing-room; we were all in white dresses, and
had flowers in our hair. The Colonel and the
Abbé Vincent were awaiting us at the
entrance to the great saloon, and the Starost,
with twelve cavaliers, advanced to meet us as
we entered. After them was carried a large
tray, loaded with bouquets of rosemary and
myrtle, with citron and orange blossoms, tied
with white ribbon. We had taken with us gold
and silver pins, with which to attach them to
our dresses. My mother and the other ladies
who presided over all the ceremonies had very
carefully instructed us concerning our
behaviour; but, although we had paid the
greatest attention to our lessons, as soon as we
passed into the drawing-room all were
forgotten. We began by placing our bouquets at
our waists, with a very serious air, but then
we felt irresistibly inclined to laugh. We
behaved in so silly a way, and did everything
so awkwardly, that we were quite ashamed of
ourselves; but our follies were all kindly
overlooked. To tell the truth, I do not